


it’s hard to keep track of you falling through the sky

by copperiisulfate



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:51:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/copperiisulfate/pseuds/copperiisulfate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As ironic as it is, you can’t shake off the déjà vu. </p>
<p>Not all that long ago, another king had sat in his spot, smoking and sulking on your counter and dying before your eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it’s hard to keep track of you falling through the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Some Izumo POV musings re: the events of 2x10 and history repeating itself. Title from The National’s song 'Fake Empire'.

 

As ironic as it is, you can’t shake off the déjà vu. 

Not all that long ago, another king had sat in his spot, smoking and sulking on your counter and dying before your eyes.

You run a hand down your face and catch yourself laughing out loud, a gust of air out of your lungs, in the empty bar.

You’re getting too old for this, all the watching and waiting, swords and kingdoms crumbling before your eyes.

_Hey Mikoto_ , you think,  _you’ve got a copycat_. _Last person we’d ever put money on too. Hasn’t got you down pat just yet but seems as if you left some sorta lasting impression after all._

You picture too easily the curl of Mikoto lips, the sharp scowl, the thought of it making you want to laugh even harder. 

You do this, sometimes, when it all gets to be too much. He was never all that conversational when he was alive but he was a good listener, or at least back when you had things to complain about that weren’t _him_. He still is, in a manner of speaking, but then, he doesn’t have much of a choice anymore, you think, feeling exhausted and a little bit fond.

_Can’t keep babysitting all these ticking time bombs all the damn time_ , you tell him. _Should’ve been more like Anna, all of you. Now that’s a good kid, a good king, a real example and role model for the ages._

_Yeah, yeah,_  you think.  _I know, she can be reckless. Still, she’s got a good, sensible head on her shoulders, half your age and twice as smart._

_Got all her bad habits from you and him I bet._

_All the good ones from me, of course._

You really are getting too old for this. The thought of her is enough to make you choke sometimes. The sight of her gets you teary-eyed, flames at her fingertips, grace under her wings, her aura so crisp and fine where his was raw, all jagged edges. You can barely form the thought that starts – _That’s our girl_  – because she’s so much more –  _That’s our legacy, our fire and heart._

She’d talked of destroying the slates and not done it lightly – not like he would have, you think. There’s no talk of blood and bone, even if plenty of ash to go around. 

You wonder if this could have been done decades before, wonder if all this could have been spared to begin with, and then try not to think about it because there’s no place for what ifs, not really, not anymore. 

And then there’s the Blue King, another flame burning bright right to the end. And well, you’ve seen this story play out before. They always say that kings will be kings  _will be kings_  till the end and there’s always been something there that you can’t touch or fix or hold in your hands, never could, not for good, never mind all the times that you’d tried.

Here’s a story that will get passed down the years, will rinse and repeat itself ad infinitum.

(You know that this is why she is going to end it, once and for all, spare the children in the generations to come from the weight and the curse and the fate of it.)

You think of all the times you’d watched a king walk out of the bar, and now, another one, for the first time, maybe the last, think of how this story never gets any easier to tell. 

 


End file.
